Moonlight Lover (15 page)

Watching her, Sin-Jin bit his lower lip to suppress his laughter. Instead, he pressed a glass of water into her hand. "Here, drink this," he whispered.

Barely able to raise her voice to her throat, she eyed the glass with suspicion. "What is it?" She coughed as she felt each one of the words vibrate against her windpipe.

"Water."

She could hear the laughter in his voice. With very little encouragement, she would have returned the water
to him, sans glass. But she was in too much discomfort to give in to a childish whim. She drained her glass. Slowly,
the fire within her subsided to a dull burn.

Rachel took a long, shuddering breath. She eyed the glass of brandy. "Why do men drink?"

Sin-Jin shrugged. He had never wondered about it
himself. It was just something a man did, like breathe. "It
is an acquired taste."

It made no sense to her. This tasted even worse than the whiskey her father had poured for her. "Why bother to acquire a taste for something so dreadful as that?" She nodded at the empty glass.

Had it suddenly gotten warmer in the room? Heat began to bedevil her, climbing up her neck, filling her
limbs. Her head felt a little strange as well, as if the room
had tilted just a little.

He thought her question over for a moment. He remembered the reason for his visit to Sam's a fortnight ago. "Because sometimes they need their senses dulled. They need to forget, to separate themselves from a world that has grown too harsh, too cruel for them to live in. It's only temporary, but it helps."

He spoke as if he understood the need firsthand. Was there something that he was running from? No. She shut out the spark of sympathy that had begun to ignite. His kind inflicted the wounds. They didn't receive them. She looked at him coldly, trying to remember that she hated him. "Then drinking would be the cowardly way out."

"I am tempted to agree with you, but I see no harm in it
once in a while. It's when a man chooses to live in that state permanently that the problem occurs." His eyes skimmed over her face, trying desperately to ignore the inviting decolletage. Her cheeks were flushed and pink. She looked incredibly appealing and he wanted to have her. Perhaps, in time.

He leaned forward and whispered, "Would you like a little fresh air?"

The room had grown smaller and at the same time a great deal brighter as well as warmer since she had taken her drink. The voices around her had been reduced to an annoying slurred buzzing. She couldn't make out any of the words. Except for his. Maybe a breath of air was just what she needed.

"Yes, I think I do need some air."

Without waiting for him, Rachel rose to her feet and found them somewhat shaky. Drawing herself up with dignity, she managed to leave the table. She was vaguely aware that he was hardly half a step behind her.

What she wasn't aware of was that she didn't mind the fact that he was.

Chapter Fifteen

The early evening air was crisp, as if it had been
washed clean by last week's rains. The dank smell of wet
wood was gone. There was nothing to interfere with the scent of Rachel's skin as it wafted to Sin-Jin—sweet, inviting, undermining his senses until he thought of
himself as a lovesick fool instead of man who had been to war. A man who had wived and been widowed and lived
close to a score and ten upon the earth.

Beyond the balcony denuded trees raised long, scrawny fingers, scratching away at the layers of darkness, searching for the absent sun. Sin-Jin felt as if he had found his.

If only she could be made aware of that.

Rachel leaned against the railing that ran the length of the long balcony. She wrapped her fingers around it,
grasping the sturdy wood as if it could somehow help her
to strengthen her resolve. With her back to Sin-Jin, she looked out across the darkened lawn and saw nothing. Her mind was too full of him.

She tried desperately to focus, to shake herself free of this unsteadiness that was simmering inside of her—this unsteadiness that made her so aware of him. She had been a fool to drink the brandy so quickly, she thought. And now she worried about becoming an even bigger fool and possibly embarrassing herself. Her stomach churned.

Slowly, she filled her lungs with air. It helped to brace her a bit, but not nearly enough. Rachel caught her breath as she felt Sin-Jin's hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, then shrugged him off, moving aside before turning to face him.

Her facial expression, no, her entire body, her very stance, exhibited defiance. Defiance that was always there, he thought, as if she expected him to murder her family in their beds. It should have put him off.

And yet it was difficult to think of anything else except that he wanted her. How had she managed to cast such a spell on him? Was it only loneliness that propelled him toward her? Was he being a fool? No, he didn't think so.

It wasn't just loneliness. He knew he could have any available woman in the county with ease. It wasn't just a matter of wanting his sheets warmed by Rachel. There was more. There was the lure of her eyes, the temptation of her mouth. And the haunting memory of the single kiss they had shared. For no matter how she thought of it later, or what she said, they had shared that kiss. The passion had been mutual. The feelings that churned between them had been mutual.

Sin-Jin dropped his hands to his sides and contented himself with looking at her. "You know, you shouldn't have consumed that brandy so quickly. Brandy is to be savored."

She shivered just at the very thought of it. Rachel ran her hands along her arms. "How can that awful taste be savored?"

He longed to warm her, but kept his distance. "Why did you do it?"

She shrugged. The reason seemed silly now. It hadn't then. "Because she did. Krystyna."

It wasn't enough of a motive. He studied her face closely. "You don't strike me as a woman who does things because someone else does."

Rachel turned her face toward the shadows. She hated
to be thought of as a fool, especially by him, though why
that should matter so much wasn't clear to her.

Nothing was clear to her anymore. Right now she felt as if her brain was lodged beneath the platen on her printing press, with the platen grinding against the chase with every passing moment.

Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. Rachel involuntarily moved a step closer to Sin-Jin. Sin-Jin knew it wasn't out of choice but out of uneasiness. He took what he could and was grateful for it.

She shook her head, not in reply to his question, but to clear her mind. It didn't help. She turned to look at him. Instantly she knew that it was the wrong thing to do. Aided by the brandy, her inhibitions had loosened. There was such a cauldron of feelings shifting through her that
Rachel was startled by it and at a complete loss as to what
to do about it, about them.

About him.

She clutched the thought that the brandy and moonlight were responsible for this feeling. But that didn't change the way she felt. Her limbs suddenly
turned to liquid. He looked so incredibly handsome in his
stark white shirt and dark blue evening coat. The coat was opened and she could see the way his fawn-colored breeches adhered to his every movement.

Rachel grew warmer, though the air was chill.

She felt her thoughts were apparent on her face and became embarrassed even though nothing had been said. A slight flush rose to her cheeks. She turned away, not wanting him to see. He'd ask questions and that would just make everything worse.

She didn't want this warmth, this strange demand drumming through her limbs and torso, crying for release. He was British, he was the enemy. He was everything she hated.

And yet—

And yet nothing, she told herself. There could be nothing. There would be nothing.

Desperate, she caught up the last thread of the conversation. "She's bold and she speaks her mind," Rachel said without preamble.

Sin-Jin thought that summed up both Krystyna and Rachel. He nodded. To keep from touching her, Sin-Jin leaned forward against the railing and looked out into the night. "She always has."

Rachel cleaved to the safe topic. "You've known her long?"

He smiled as he thought of their first meeting. He had been wounded, half out of his head. He had thought her as an angel, and then someone out of his past. She was more than both. He nodded. "I've known her almost as long as she's been in this country."

"He called her Countess," Rachel remembered, puzzled. "Mr. McKinley," she clarified as an afterthought, tripping on her own tongue. What was there about him that made her so muddleheaded, so unsure of herself? They were at a party. Surely he wouldn't try to force himself on her here. And if he did, she could well defend herself.

Couldn't she?

"She was one," Sin-Jin answered. "Still is, actually. But her lands were seized and she had to flee to America." He watched Rachel as he spoke, watched her assimilate the information. He saw sympathy slowly etch itself into her features.

Rachel leaned her arms on the railing, unmindful of the cold. She folded her hands before her. "I know what that's like, fleeing. Running away because you're afraid for yourself and your loved ones."

Her voice trailed off as she shut her eyes, attempting to banish the memory that was suddenly so real, so vivid. It only loomed larger.

She appeared so distraught that he longed to hold her, to cradle her against him until whatever memories were troubling her were gone. He did neither. "How old were you?" he asked gently.

She let out a ragged breath. "Old enough to remember. Old enough to hate them for it." She turned and looked up into his eyes. They were so sensitive, so tempting. Frantically, she attempted to pull her hatred to her like an impenetrable cloak. It tore like a rotting cloth. "Twelve."

Twelve. No longer a child, not yet a woman. It must have been very difficult for her.

Sin-Jin did not think, he merely reacted as compassion filled the very depths of him. He cupped her cheek, his fingers barely touching her skin. It was enough to convey everything. "I'm sorry."

There was nothing she hated more than pity. It was a niggardly emotion that undermined the recipient. Her mouth hardened. "I don't need your pity, Lieutenant. It's your kind that sent me and mine running."

There were more words, but she couldn't say them. For even the very syllables made her throat ache and her insides twist with grief. She turned her head away from him, but not quickly enough to hide the single tear that slid down her cheek.

Sin-Jin framed her face with his hands, forcing her to turn toward him again. He wiped away the tear with the edge of his thumb. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it felt as if it stung his skin.

"Nonetheless," he whispered, "I am sorry."

His words skimmed along her lips, touching her a moment before he pressed his mouth softly to hers.

It was the brandy that kept her in place, the brandy that froze her limbs so that they couldn't move. So that she couldn't turn and escape him. It was the brandy, she swore to herself, that made her tremble within, waiting, anticipating.

Wanting more.

He knew how to kiss a woman, how to bring her pleasure, to heighten her senses and make her want him. But all his skills seemed to evaporate in the face of what shimmered before him. Above all else, he wanted to be gentle, to be reassuring. To be kind.

But there was something about the innocent, bewildered
eagerness that rose up to meet him in her kiss that tore away his structured manners and had him aching to
plunder a field that had never been conquered before. His
good intentions dried up and blew away, like autumn leaves in the first winter wind.

He plunged his hands into her hair, rejoicing in the silken feel of it. In the silken feel of her mouth. He dragged her closer to him as he cupped her head in his hand, deepening the kiss until they both spiraled off the
cliff together, falling headfirst into a beckoning darkness.

His breath completely deserted him.

He had been aroused before. He had ached before. But he had never been humbled, certainly never brought to his knees before. And always, always he had been in control of the situation and of himself. Here, the reins had slipped from his hands without his consent or
knowledge. They had been gripped in an iron grasp by the
small hand of this woman who had no idea of the power she held over him.

Or did she?

What was he doing to her? How could the earth be moving when they were standing still on the balcony? Was it another storm that was coming? Some sort of scourge of nature perhaps? Could they have both been swallowed up whole without their knowledge?

And what was this terrible weakness that seized her? This strange feeling racing through her, making her feel as if she was incomplete without—without—

Without him?

Rachel's eyes flew open. She wedged her hands against
him, placing them on his chest and prying a space
between them. She stared, shaken, her lungs exploding as
she realized that she had stopped breathing altogether.

What had he done to her? What had he made her do to herself?

With her last ounce of strength, Rachel drew her hand back and slapped him, far too drained to form a fist and strike him properly. "You are all alike," she cried miserably.

"We who?" Sin-Jin was quick and caught her wrist before Rachel could deliver a second blow. His face stung. His body ached. "We British? We men?" When would she stop denying what existed between them? What would continue to exist until its proper release?

"You heathens!" she spat. Still shaking, she took a step back, finding herself trapped in a corner with the
wall on one side, the railing on the other. "You are taking
advantage of me."

He smiled, but refrained from moving forward. That would be too much like stalking her. "Not a very good tactical maneuver." He indicated the corner. "You make
a poor soldier." He saw the color rise to her cheeks. "And
as for my taking advantage of you, no more than you of me, madam. No more than you of me."